


On the Road

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: Life on the run is taking its toll on Face





	On the Road

**Author's Note:**

> There's a few times in the series where Face seems to really long for a normal life. I got to thinking about the stress that comes from living in uncertainty, and the effect this might have on him, especially in the early days.  
> I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks for reading.

The condo Face had scammed was nice enough; it overlooked the beach, had a deck for barbecues on long Summer nights, not to mention a hot tub. But it was only ever temporary, a fact Face had apparently forgotten as Hannibal burst out onto the deck.

Face was in the tub with a couple of girls Hannibal recognised from the cocktail stand at the _Stars and Sand_ event Face held on the beach the other night. They all jumped at Hannibal's abrupt entrance.

"Lynch's coming," he announced.

"Here?" Face looked incredulous.

Hannibal cast round for a towel, found one over the back of a deckchair. He tossed it at Face. "Come on, we need to get going. BA's in the van."

The girls started murmuring and Hannibal went back inside the condo again, tugging the curtain to look out onto the street. No Lynch yet, no sirens, but they'd be here soon. He could see BA running the engine.

"Face!" he shouted.

Face stumbled into the living room, one arm through his t-shirt, hopping as he tried to put his pants on. "But I don't get it; what tipped them off?"

"A lifeguard."

"A lifeguard?" Face said in disgust, "don't tell me they have our pictures in lifeguard stations now?"

"Apparently so." Hannibal had to resist the urge to help Face with his shirt. 

The girls came inside then, shivering in their towels. "Templeton?" one of them said. "What's going on?"

"Look, Lisa - " Face began, and Hannibal held up his hand.

"Sorry ladies, no time to explain. We have to go." He looked at Face pointedly. "Now!"

"Hannibal, it's not like they're close - I can't even hear the sirens -"

As if on cue, they heard sirens wailing in the distance. Their eyes met. In hindsight Hannibal should have read his expression and stopped him but it all happened too fast - the sound of breaking glass, the girls screaming, Face cradling his bloodied hand.

Quickly, Hannibal snatched up the runner that had been tastefully arranged over the coffee table and wrapped it around Face's hand. He pulled him forcefully out of the condo, ignoring the girls.

"What happened, man?" BA called through the window as Hannibal hurried Face towards the van.

"Never mind Sergeant," Hannibal said, opening the back door of the van and pushing Face inside, "just drive."

The tyres screeched as BA pulled away, and Hannibal used the momentum to slam the door shut again. Then he braced himself as best he could. Face was pressed back against his seat, eyes closed, clutching his injured hand in his lap. Blood was soaking through the fabric but the van was still sliding around too much for Hannibal to do little more than pull Face's hand close up to Face's chest.

"Keep it elevated," he shouted into his ear. Face winced but nodded to show he got the message.

"BA", he said, turning back, "report!"

"Two cars, one motorbike. I'm gonna have to drive like the fool to lose them."

Hannibal reached over to clasp his shoulder. "Just do what you do best, BA."

They lost them eventually by running the red light at the railroad tracks. The freight train clipped the back of the van and they were all thrown sideways as BA fought to keep it steady. Then he managed to gain control and they straightened in their seats. "Nice, BA," Hannibal breathed out, and BA shook his head.

"That was close, man. Too close."

Now that the ride had smoothened out, Hannibal turned his attention back to Face. He took Face's hand, rested it in his own lap and heard Face hiss as he unwound the fabric. The knuckles and skin over the back of Face's hand were lacerated and he could feel glass fragments as he gently palpated the torn flesh.

"It's going to need stitches," Hannibal said. Face nodded and pulled his hand back from Hannibal's grasp. He proceeded to wrap it up again in silence.

"Want to tell me what that was all about, Lieutenant?" Hannibal said in a low voice.

Face shook his head and so Hannibal shrugged and climbed up front with BA.

"What's wrong with Face, Hannibal?" BA said, not taking his eyes from the road.

"He put his fist through a window."

"What?" BA exclaimed. "Why'd he go and do a crazy thing like that for?"

"Beats me," Hannibal said, looking back at Face, but instead of being goaded into a reply, Face just shifted and turned away.

Soon after, they saw a sign for a car wash and Hannibal had a flash of inspiration.

"Pull over here, BA," he said.

* * *

 

"You want to rent out the car wash?" the attendant said uncertainly.

"Sure, Hannibal said. "For an hour."

"But the cycle only runs for ten minutes tops."

Hannibal smiled broadly and placed his hand on the youth's shoulder. "Son, I'll tell you what. Why don't you put the van through the wash and then just leave it there for the other fifty minutes?"

"I don't know mister," the attendant said, looking over at the office.

"This'll make it worth your while," Hannibal said, tucking the money neatly into the attendant's shirt pocket.

 

* * *

 

BA was over by the car wash, supervising proceedings. He hadn't been too happy about turning his precious van over to an automated car wash, but as Hannibal explained, they needed to lie low for a while, and the van was just too conspicuous.

Hannibal and Face sat on the plastic table and chairs set near the restrooms, the van's first aid kit laid out on the table. He held Face's injured hand, steadying it, and was injecting around the lacerations with lidocaine. Face was holding a swab with his uninjured hand, blotting periodically so that Hannibal could see what he was doing.

He'd been expecting Face to grouse but instead Face seemed engrossed in his task. The only sign that something was wrong was the way his hand shook as Hannibal held it in his.

The blood slowed some as the anaesthetic kicked in, and Hannibal started cleaning out the lacs with iodine. "You feel that?" he said, and Face gave a tight shake of his head.

Then came the tricky part, finding the splinters of glass. It was all about sensation rather than sight. He used the tweezers, probing gently, feeling for the crunch of glass upon the metal teeth.

"So, Lieutenant," he said as he worked, "want to try again?"

Face didn't answer for a while, but when he did, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I can't go on living like this, Hannibal." 

"What do you mean?" he said without looking up.

"Always on the move, having to run out every time I get a good thing going."

"What's the alternative? We go back to prison? Spend the best years of our lives behind bars?"

"We could get out early on good behaviour -" Face countered, but Hannibal shook his head.

"I hate to break it to you kid, but if they catch us, we'll be serving the full sentence. They'll want to make an example of us."

Silence fell again as Hannibal began suturing. The swelling was worse now, making it harder to bring the edges of the lacs together, and he frowned. Ideally they should have got an ice pack on it, but there hadn't been time.

"I just can't take it anymore," Face said then, and Hannibal heard his voice catch. "My whole life I've never had somewhere to call home and I just want it all to stop."

"You know we all want that, right?" It was going to scar no matter how careful he was.

When Face didn't answer he looked up and was dismayed to see the younger man fighting back tears.

"Face - "

"It's fine," Face said, attempting to smile, as if determined not to let the tears spill over. He tried to rise but Hannibal was still holding onto his hand and then Hannibal put his other hand round the back of Face's head, like taking a pup by the scruff of its neck, and pulled Face close.

"It's not fair," he heard Face say, and Hannibal knew he was talking about Hanoi. Because that's what Face kept saying that day when they were sentenced, like he was in some kind of daze, imploring Hannibal to do something, as if he was still expecting Hannibal to convince the judge of their innocence, to explain that it had all been a horrible mistake. They were the good guys, and this kind of stuff wasn't supposed to happen to the good guys.

And Hannibal _had_ done something. He'd gotten them out. But it hadn't been the kind of fix Face was expecting, or wanting.

"It's not fair," Face kept saying, over and over again, and Hannibal tightened his grip on him.

This latest stretch of inactivity hadn't been good for them. It had been too long, too permanent, too much like creating hope.

Tomorrow they'd spring Murdock and find somewhere to hole up, go through training exercises, work off the adrenaline and aggression that came from being on the run.

But for now all he said was, "I know, kid, I know."

There was nothing else to say.

 

  _Finis_


End file.
